The Encounter
by rogue empress
Summary: The encounter that brings a peal of doom for Rivendell and MiddleEarth, A tormented heart for the shipwright's son, A lost name for Elrond and his children. And what becomes of a creature whose blood is black but whose heart is full of light?
1. In the deep of the woods

Author's note: Sweet Lurline what have i done? it's a LOTR fic! ((squeals in horror)) LOTR, Middle-Earth and all things therein belong to the immortal genius of J.R.R. Tolkien. I only claim the two characters you meet here, and their names. Which I haven't figured out yet. Flames are welcome- I deserve them.I will notpost more until there are reviews.Oh, and I have no idea where I'm going with this. Well, read and form opinions!

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A Mortal is walking through dense forest looking for game and spots an Elf-princess who is singing and dancing, then cannot take his eyes off her. That's the way it always works. Then everyone tells him he may not court her. Mules may not pursue mustangs. Everyone tells her she does not love him. She can't -- what grief, what despair would befall her when he dies and for all eternity until the very earth swallows her up in order to silence her cries. But they both fight hard enough, and in the end are always wed. That's the way it always works. 

This encounter was very different. Perhaps that's why it dumbfounded them so. She had lost her family and he had lost interest in sleeping. As he heard her heavy steps approach, he turned to greet her, grateful for some company and a good travel story. But something happened that no one could have foreseen. As soon as her eyes met him, she fell to the forest floorin a series of swift folding joints, and sat there and could not look at him. The sight of him overtook her with fury, and she feared for her life. He - as embarrassed as Elves can be for startling her - for a moment also could not meet her tawny skin and jet black hair as she sat, trembling on the floor a few paces from him. Then he turned and walked toward her, thinking perhaps she had fainted from exhaustion, and held out his hand to help her up.

"Are you well?" He asked.

She did not answer, only pulled her knees up and tried to shield her head behind them. Her dress was brown and faded in parts. It had the reminiscence of lace around the bodice, sleeves that had been torn from their seams. There was a gap in the dress under her arm where the seam that had held on the sleeve and connected it to the rest of the dress had continued to unravel a little down the side, and through it he could see that there had been whalebone gutted out of it. The dress hung frighteningly loose on her, although she was not emaciated, and he could not decide if it was originally made for her or someone else.

"Forgive me." He said. "I did not mean to startle you. Are you weary? Come into my city, my people will provide foodandbeds."

She looked at him, then, as he knelt down beside her like a father speaking to a shy four-year-old. The swiftness of the turn of her head and the coldness of her utterly black eyes unnerved him a great deal. Her face was stony, her voice all to real for an Elf who spends his days in dream lands. "I am not weary."

His brow furrowed just slightly, and rebel tears began falling down her face. It was then that he recognized that she was not human. She was not Elf-kind, and she was Mortal, but she was not a Woman. At least, not of any race he had seen or heard of in Middle Earth. The dark, tawny color of her skin coupled with her blue-black hair and cold black eyes made her very unusual. Not to mention the tattoo that must have wound up her back andcircled her throat up to her ear like a vine of scythes, alsomade it impossible for him to determine her culture.

His crystal blue eyes worried her. What could he see? What did he know? The bright golden hair on his head seemed to draw the sunlight down from the sky, and his fair skin soaked it and gave it back with a luster akin to starlight. She, on the other hand, cast shadows all around her. Her hair devoured all light but moonlight and would never shine. His eyes which so clearly boasted truth and goodness tried to penetrate her ambiguous and shielding ones, looking for a soul that was already decaying into dust within her. She dropped her gaze, afraid that he would be able to see the truth of her past. She knew he did not recognize her, and it was just as well.

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	2. Reunion

It was not love he felt for her. It was not attraction. He could not deny she was not ugly, and despite how dark and unusual she was, she was lovely in her own way. But what he felt towards her was a strange, far - off whisper of familiarity. There was no pressure for cordiality, no awkward glances asking what the intent behind simple words was. It was as if he knew her, though he didn't know why. He hadn't seen anything like her in all of his years - and they were innumerable. He smiled slightly and went to wipe the tears from her foolish face, but she pulled her face away with such determination that he stopped, cast his eyes down and apologized.

"May I help you up?" He offered, taking the more polite option and standing, holding out his hand for her. This cordiality felt more like a game to him than a social necessity.

She acted as though to put her hand in his, but stopped short, looking at him with an expression he could not read.

"My lady?" He asked.

Without moving a muscle in her face, he thought she cracked an almost indecipherable smile. But it was gone in an instant, long forgotten. "You may not touch me." She told him.

"Of course, my lady." He said, offering her his walking staff.

She refused this also. Instead, she gripped the trunk of a nearby tree and pulled herself up.

"What is your name?" He asked, turning to lead her to nearby Rivendell. When she did not answer he turned back to her in question. "My name is Cirdanian..."

She collapsed again, this time falling unconscious. He knelt beside her and attempted to rouse her, but found her unresponsive, her flesh hot and her hairline wet with blood.

Quickly and easily he lifted her limp body off the ground and continued towards Rivendell for help. Now that he had her in his arms he realized that she was emaciated - there was not a place on her body that he could find where his arms weren't bruised by sharp rods and sheets of bone. His heart went more and more out to the girl as he carried her feeble frame up to Elrond's house. She could feel it, though her body was unresponsive, and even as she battled against it, Cirdanian's affection was driven even more earnestly into her veins. She screamed at it and used everything she knew to get it to abandon her black hole of a heart, but little prevailed. Slowly she was losing strength and hope, and quickly she was being overthrown.

Cirdanian, feeling the heat of her fevered body through his clothing and hers, began to ask questions more earnestly than before. Who was she? Where did she come from? _What_ was she? And why had she been wandering through that forest? He reached the castle where his lord was having lunch with his generals and his family, and as he stepped over the threshold, he vowed he would not leave her side until he had the answer to all of his questions.

Elrond ordered her into the dining room at first glance. "There is no time for beds," he said, "clear off a place on the table."

Many of the generals took their leave after helping clear the table for her death-bound frame. Others lingered, having more skill in healing, and wished to help. Elrond asked little of them except to fetch him things. Most of them slowly trickled away as the hours rolled by. Elrohir, his son, and Arwen lingered the longest, Arwen visibly wracked with concern.

It was a while before there was any color in the girl's face. Elrond worked hard. Beads of sweat began to form on her brown forehead, and finally, she opened her eyes.

Elrond stood over her and pressed a compress to her forehead.

She smirked just slightly, and in it were the faintest glints of childlike hope. "Hello Grandfather," she said.


End file.
